


The Bride in the Bath

by Annie46fic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Ghosts, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Season/Series 07 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 05:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie46fic/pseuds/Annie46fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean & Sam are taking some downtime in a themed motel. What happens when they find out the <i>fake</i> haunting might be real?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bride in the Bath

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 2012 Supernatural reverse bang challenge. The fic was inspired by artwork posted by deadflowers5 on LJ , you can find her post [here](http://deadflowers5.livejournal.com/125046.html%20) ~ although it may not be open yet.

[ ](http://annie46.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/339/31622)

She waits, wondering who it will be this week needing it, because it has been so long, her need for chaos so strong it almost chokes her.

She is disappointed when the motel door opens and two men who come through the door. She prefers couples, prefers killing one and seeing the other suffer but she has to take what she can get and if all she can get is these two then she will take them, take them down one by one and make sure they know who has done this to them.

_The bride in the bath_ , just one of the _legends_ the motel owner likes to play up on. It’s cheap and slick themed motel which has made the owner reasonably rich. The occupants are pleasure seekers and stupid teens who like to be scared passing through the doors. 

The stupid sap had decorated every single room himself, there was the _vampire room_ , the _Jack the Ripper room_ , the _axe murderer room_ and so on. He even came in at night and refreshed the bloodstains, used watered down paint and food coloring. It was a novelty and he thought he was so clever but how could he have known that he had unknowingly stumbled on something that was real, something tangible. He was just some guy trying to make a living and she, she was a long dead spirit who was angry and frustrated unable to move on and getting her satisfaction from ruining the lives of others.

It was bitterly ironic but amusing enough and he would never know that she cursed those who stayed in _her_ room, death inevitable once they had walked through the door.

****

“Nice choice dude.”

Sam dropped his bag on the bed furthest from the door; the room was clean, fresh and different to their usual accommodation. It had obviously been well cared for, clean sheets, fresh towels and a nice view of the pool but there was also the unasked for _novelty_ value of this being a _haunted_ motel and set up as a venue of choice for amateur ghost busters, thrill seekers and young men who just wanted to get laid.

“I thought it might be amusing.”

Dean made a show of putting his bag down on the second bed and sat down on it bouncing rhythmically. He looked a lot better than he had in a while, his skin lightly tanned beneath his freckles, his hair getting lighter and blonder from exposure from the sun. It was rare that the Winchesters took vacations but Sam figured that, now Dean was free of purgatory and the world seemed safe for once, it was time to chill.

“So you thought it would be amusing to book us into a haunted motel?” Sam shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. It was longer than ever and messy, flopping in his eyes almost constantly. He had wanted to cut it but Dean seemed to like it this way and he was always happier when he was pleasing his big brother, glad that they were happy and together for once, no angels, demons, leviathans or any other supernatural threat or being getting in their way.

“Come on Sammy.” Dean shrugged off his jacket and began to unbutton his outer shirt. “You know it’s all a fucking scam. All these different rooms based on myths and hearsay – see those bloodstains on the shower curtain? Bet the owner did them himself.” He got up and ran a finger through the thick liquid, sticking it into his mouth - much to Sam’s disgust. “Yep, fucking corn syrup – not blood at all.”

“Jerk!” Sam threw himself back onto his own bed, bouncing up and down for a moment, stretching out his cramped limbs.

“Bitch!” Dean’s tone was fond, loving almost and Sam felt his heart flutter a little, a thrill of anticipation of what was to come.

It had been a while since they were intimate; a long while since they had even thought about it or even talked about it. They had always danced around the subject in daylight, preferring to touch under the safety of darkness, bed sheets wrapped around them, protecting them from themselves.

Dean had been everything to Sam, including his first time. It was Dean who taught him to touch himself, taught him how to give himself pleasure, Dean who had kissed him for the first time, Dean who had taken his cock in experienced hands and made him come so hard he had almost passed out with pleasure. There had always been others of course - Jess, Madison, the bitch that was Ruby. He wasn’t gay and he had never had much experience with other guys but Dean, Dean was different and the taboo of incest was never really touched upon.

They had often fooled around after hunts, blaming adrenaline highs for what happened between them. No one made Sam feel like Dean did, no one touched him in the same way but after he had come back soulless, his brother had put distance between them and that distance remained through Sam’s recovery, his madness, his hallucinations, Dean’s time in purgatory. Now, though, things were different, there was nothing between them, no wall, no madness, no demon bitch, no angel. They were getting back on track and Sam wanted, wanted so badly it hurt.

“Hey!” Dean snapped his fingers and brought Sam back to the present, to the now. “Do you want to call out for ribs and watch cheap horror movies on demand? We may as well get value for fucking money, huh?”

“Yeah.” Sam couldn’t hide his smile, his delight. “I’d like that.”

Dean nodded and gestured to the bath, the shower curtain obscuring it and the bloody hand prints that marred its pristine surface.

“You wanna take a shower?” He asked.

“Sure.” Sam wanted to suggest they took one together but he thought maybe, it was best to walk before he broke into a run. “You get the menus and ring out for food – I’ll save you some of the hot water.”

“You better.” Dean was almost laughing in his delight and Sam could feel his heart swelling with joy.

Tonight, he mused, was gonna’ be awesome.

****

Perhaps, she mused, she had been wrong about these two men; they were perhaps more in love than some of the married couples who came here. She could see the affection in every glance and hear it in every word. It was an obvious easy fondness, something that had lasted decades; two individual’s content in each others company, easy targets for her then and she smiled to herself at the thought of their suffering.

She got a good view of the first one as he stepped, naked, into the shower. He was tall, tallest man she had ever seen. His limbs were long and tanned his chest taut, and his belly flat. He had long chestnut hair and a wide smile, dimples in his cheeks and chin. She could see his manhood, already erect, proportional with the rest of him and her mouth watered, her body wishing that it still breathed, her heart wishing it still beat. She would have loved a man like this and her envy of the other grew.

Then, the other stepped inside the shower; he too was a fine specimen. His chest was bigger, more defined than that of his partner, but he was smaller, and broader, his shoulders wide. His skin was paler, freckled and his hair had a reddish tinge to it. He had the greenest eyes, big and wide, his lashes thick and lush like those of a woman. She could see that he too was big and ready, his fingers brushing against his own length. She wondered what she would see tonight, wondered if their passion was as physical as it was obvious and she settled back, her eagerness for pain and suffering swamped by her eagerness to see them together.

After all, there was time enough for them to suffer.

****

Sam wrapped the soft towel tighter around his waist and began to shave. He felt clean and fresh, his heart lighter than it had been for a while. Behind him he heard the shower click off and felt Dean’s damp hand on the small of his back. He turned a little so that he could see his brother, chest sparkling with droplets from the hot water, hair sticking up on end. Dean looked better than he had in a while and Sam could only hope he had forgotten some of the things that had happened to him in purgatory.

“Hard to concentrate on much,” Dean mumbled as he looked up at Sam. “Those fucking stupid bloodstains on the curtain and floor, looks like someone died in here.”

“According to the manager someone did.” Sam’s mouth quirked in amusement, “This is the _bride in the bath_ room.”

“Local legend?”

“Seems like it,” Sam huffed and put down his razor, turning around further. “We’re on vacation,” he mumbled. “Not here to study supernatural cases. I’ve had enough of that, Dean. I just want to spend some downtime with you.”

“Sammy,” his brother breathed out and relaxed, his head resting on Sam’s shoulder. He shivered a little and Sam felt the movement zing through him, his fingers itching to touch, his mouth opening slightly, tongue coming out to lick his lower lip, inviting.

Sam took courage into his own hands and reached back pulling Dean in closer; he turned fully so that Dean could fit into the vee of his legs, the two of them separated only by the thin, worn cotton of the towel. Dean let out a little moan, deep and full, torn out of him as if he couldn’t hold it back. 

“Not sure you still wanted this,” he murmured into Sam’s neck, teeth so close they could almost bury themselves into the delicate skin there. “I didn’t know if you still cared.”

“You know I always care, Dean. I told you, what happened with Amelia – it wasn’t - it wasn’t . . . .”

“S’ok, Sammy” Dean moved closer and Sam gasped at how hard he was, his own cock taking interest, the sensations almost too much for him to bear. “I understand, I’ve been there, remember? I used to hold Lisa close but it was never the same, she was too soft, too pliant, wanted big hands and a muscular body. I wanted you.”

Sam groaned again and his hands fumbled with the towel. Dean’s fingers came up to help, the pair of them shaking so much that it was far more difficult than they anticipated. Finally, they were both naked, pressed up against the basin, skin against skin. Sam let his hand drop down, wrap around Dean’s hard length, silky and smooth. Dean was already leaking and damp, the scent of his arousal strong. Sam’s mouth was watering and he dropped to his knees, enveloping his brother in one swallow, Dean’s moans of approval zinging through him along with the excitement of doing this again, of being intimate, of giving something to the one person in the whole universe he had always loved.

****

The energy was almost tangible; she could feel it bursting around her and if she still had a corporeal mouth, it would have been watering. Sexual energy was always so satisfying, so pleasurable. It didn’t give her the same satisfaction or as much power as suffering did but it was close enough. She liked to see coupling, humans at their most basic, and their emotions so raw and close to the surface. She could see the wonderfully wide mouth of the tall one wrapped around the fat, red cock of his smaller companion; she could see the pleasure in that wonderfully beautiful face, see those green eyes clench closed as the sensations became almost unbearable. Best of all though, she could smell the undercurrent of sin in this connection, not just the sin of two men joining, but the fact that these two men were bound by blood, and by kinship. The fact that they loved each other in so many different ways would make killing them so much more satisfying and she wondered which one she would choose first, wondered which one she would torture and bleed out whilst the other one watched.

This was going to be her most satisfying kill ever and she could not wait.

****

_Her parents had chosen her husband because they thought he was a fine upstanding member of the community. They were wrong._

_He was a sexual predator who tortured her almost constantly, tying her up, marking her with teeth or nails. She had been a virgin and untouched and he ruined her, broke her and she could do nothing but bow to his will._

_She would never be able to go home; her mother asked, constantly, when she would give them a grandchild and she was unable to answer that question. Her husband used her in the vilest of manners and when he was not satisfied with her, he would bring home whores and other loose women, fuck them in her bed while she was tied up and left to watch._

_When he got truly bored with her, he put her in the bath and slashed her with razors. It was slow and painful and he watched her bleed out with pleasure in his eyes. She tried to escape him, her hands staining the shower curtain, her feet leaving blood smeared across the floor but to no avail. She died in agony and her fear and hatred of him stopped her from moving on, from following the kindly old man they sent to fetch her. She retained some humanity for a time but as the years passed and she could not exact her revenge on her long dead husband, she began to exact it on others._

_Her old house had many times. Sometimes it was a family and she did not bother them much, her mind too fixed on revenge to do anything but watch. Other times it was a couple, happily married or engaged the sort of love she was denied in her life and too painful to watch. She learned how to project herself, how to touch things, how to move things and, slowly, she learned how to torture, how to feed on fear and the energy it brought. She would choose her victim, she would observe them and then she would separate them from their partner. Sometimes she would push them into the cellar or lock them in the outhouse, sometimes she would worm her way into their head, play with their minds, make them sick, and send them to the local hospital. She would laugh to herself as she saw their partners distress, saw them talk to the doctors; try to discover why their usually sane and healthy husband or wife had suddenly taken mad. It was even more fun to watch the remaining companion search for their missing spouse, see them walk the streets, call the police, beg for help. Sometimes they would find the body weeks later, stuffed into a dumpster or starved to death in the cellar. The agony that their suffering brought gave her more energy, gave her more purpose and, after 100 years, she no longer resembled anything human._

****

Sam woke with a yawn; the sun filtered through the thick drapes and made the room’s tacky fake bloodstains look more cheap and tackier than ever. He sighed contentedly, feeling sated and happy for the first time in a long time, the hard, hot body of his brother pressed up against him, fast asleep and snoring.

He never thought he could have this again, never thought he would have it again. They had endured so much these past years and he was a million miles away from the stubborn and heart-broken young man Dean had picked up from Stanford. He had tried _normal_ with Jess but it had never really worked, he had tried _normal_ with Amelia and it had been better but there was still something tangible missing. He realized now that it had been Dean, Dean he had wanted, Dean he had needed. It had taken them a while to get back on track as far as hunting was concerned but he knew he didn’t want hunting, not really, not anymore. Now he wanted to have normal again but he wanted it with Dean. He wanted to extend this vacation, extend it forever and he wondered if he might be able to persuade Dean, if finally they could give up their transient and risky lifestyle and actually become stable and respectable.

“Does that freaky mind of yours start working the minute you’re awake?” Dean chuckled sleepily and Sam rolled onto his side so that he could see those bright green eyes, open just a crack and smiling at him, crinkles at the side showing just how much this life had aged Dean, aged them both.

“Not always.” Sam grinned back at him, unable to stop himself. “Only when there is sex involved.”

Dean shook his head but he continued to smile; Sam let his fingers play over Dean’s face, stroking through his rough stubble, pausing over those lush lips so that Dean could lick and nip.

“Last night . . . ,” Sam began, his cock already half-hard. “It was. . . .”

“Yeah.” Dean sucked hard on Sam’s finger, his message clear. Sam shivered his mouth suddenly dry, love and lust welling up inside of him, overwhelmed by feelings he rolled over and pulled Dean on top of him, opening his legs so that his brother could settle between his thighs.

“Fuck me Dean,” he said, trying hard not to beg. “Please.”

There was a long pause and, for a moment, Sam thought he had pushed too hard too soon and he closed his eyes, regret coloring his every move.

“Sammy,” his brother sounded wrecked. “Do you really want this again?”

“More than anything, Dean.” Sam swallowed hard and dared to open his eyes. His brother’s face was close to his, his lips so close to Sam’s that he only had to move his head a little and they would be kissing.

“You know how much I hate chick flicks, Sammy,” Dean whispered, gently. “But yeah, I want it too.”

Then they were in each others arms and they were kissing, touching, their hands, mouths, tongues and teeth marking each other, making promises that this time Sam was determined to keep and when Dean entered him, filled him, he felt intense pleasure and determination, Dean’s name on his lips when he came.

****

When Sam woke, it was already late in the morning, the sun climbing up towards noon. He felt sore and bruised but happy, his whole body relaxed, the scent of sweat and sex strong in the air. He rolled over to touch his brother and realized, with an odd jerk of shock that the sheets were cold and Dean’s side of the bed was empty.

For a moment, he had to take in deep breaths to calm his beating heart, to steady his panic. Surely, Dean hadn’t regretted last night so much he’d decided to bolt. He licked his dry lips and sat up, his eyes taking in the room. Dean’s clothes were still slung over one of the easy chairs; his razor was still in the bathroom and his leather jacket hanging on the back of the door. Sam chuckled to himself, what a fucking idiot he was, Dean had probably gone for food and was on his way back right now with some greasy burger and a salad for Sam.

Two hours went by and still no Dean. By now, Sam was out of bed, showered, dressed and beginning to panic. Dean’s cell went to voice mail, the message box full and there was no sign of him anywhere. The Impala was out in the motel car park, shiny and black in the sunshine, her pristine stillness making him realize that she hadn’t been moved since they had parked here yesterday.

After another hour, Sam was in the reception, his anxiety clear and obvious. The receptionist listened to him with some sympathy but she hadn’t seen Dean since they checked in and she didn’t know where he might be. Sam wanted to grab and shake her but it wasn’t her fault. He felt almost physically sick, distant memories of that moment in Dick’s lab when Dean and Cas had vanished in front of his eyes, playing repeatedly in his head. Now, like then, he didn’t know what to do, didn’t know who to call. All his friends were dead, all his contacts severed. His brother was missing again and he didn’t know where he might be or what had happened to him.

He was hunched over the laptop when there was a knock on the door. He opened it to see the motel’s owner standing in the doorway. The man looked extremely pale and Sam could see the way his eyes darted about the room finally settling on the bathroom with its macabre bloodstains and ripped shower curtain.

“Marion tells me your brother is missing,” he sounded as wrecked, as he looked, something akin to guilt playing across his features.

“Yeah, I woke up this morning and he was gone.” Sam couldn’t tell the man that this wasn’t exactly an unusual occurrence as far as the Winchesters were concerned. “His clothes and precious car are still here so I guess he hasn’t gone far but he isn’t answering his cell and something just seems off.”

“Dear God.” The man’s reaction shocked Sam. He sat down on Dean’s empty bed and buried his head in his hands. “Why does this keep happening?”

“What?” Sam frowned, his mouth suddenly bone dry. “Explain.”

“We have had over twenty couples stay in this room since the motel was refurbished a-and . . . .” He put his hand to his head, wiping at the sweat there. “People keep going missing.”

“What are you saying to me?” Sam’s emotions ranged from angry to dread and he stared at the man unable to believe his ears.

“It was honeymooners first.” The man didn’t seem to hear what Sam was saying, instead he just shook his head, burying it in his hands again, his fingers trembling. “The man was missing for months. They found him ten miles from here.”

“Dead?” It was a stupid and obvious question and Sam felt almost ashamed but with Dean gone, he couldn’t think straight and he knew he must look and sound irrational.

“Yes.” The owner bit his lip hard. “The blood had been slowly drained out of him.”

Sam’s immediate thought was _vampire_ but the owner was still talking, low and freaked.

“The second time it was a woman, we found her in the basement, she was barely alive and died later in hospital. Her hair hacked off and her skin covered in cuts and bruises. I thought maybe we had a serial killer on our hands but – but the police couldn’t find anything, no evidence of human intervention, no fingerprints, no weapons, nothing. There were no leads.”

“And yet you kept on renting the room?” Sam’s voice shook and he had to thrust his hands into his pockets to stop from hitting the man. “Even though people were dying?”

“I have a business. I – the money – if we closed it down, then the money we would lose . . . .”

“People were dying! My brother – fuck! He might be . . . .” Sam’s heart thundered painfully in his chest. “The cops – are they still looking?”

“They never really closed the case but well, we had an agreement.”

Sam shook his head; it didn’t make sense, none of it, how could they have survived purgatory, Hell, the devil, even Death himself and yet fall victim to some lunatic killer? He wanted his brother back now, he needed him, he refused to think about it, refused to even believe that Dean was gone, that he would never, ever hold Dean in his arms again, that they would never have last night again. He would find Dean, he had to find Dean and he wouldn’t rest until he did.

****

The smell in his nostrils was definitely something decomposing and when he opened his eyes, he couldn’t see a thing. The room was dark and dank and he could feel the ache in his limbs from lying on the cold floor. He opened his mouth but nothing came out but a pathetic squeak, a moan of pain. 

Dean blinked; he had no idea where he was. When he went to sleep, he was in bed with Sam, happy and contented for the first time in ages. Now he hadn’t a clue, couldn’t remember anything happening to him, couldn’t remember an attack or a fight. He rolled over with a groan and saw, through the gloom, a flickering light. 

“Who . . . ?” He managed to croak. “What . . . ?”

The light dimmed a little and Dean thought he saw the figure of a woman flash in and out, tall and thin, face as pale as milk, eyes mad and burning. He swallowed and attempted to push himself up on his elbows. His arms hurt and he realized that they felt damp and cold, sore, stinging. He squinted down, trying to see through the gloom.

He looked up; the wavering figure was closer now and Dean was certain that it was something paranormal, a spirit of some sort. He moaned the irony not lost on him, captured by some supernatural creature on his vacation away from fucking supernatural creatures.

_”You are bleeding,”_ the thing in front of him spoke slow, deep, the ghastly tone of graveyards and death. _”You will die slowly, painfully but you will die and no one, not even your beautiful brother will save you. You will bleed out and if or when they do discover your cadaver it will be drained of its essence.”_

Dean felt light-headed and confused; why did this thing want to torture him? What he had he done to it? Why was he here in this place? He licked his lips and tried to lift his arm but, even though he wasn’t tied or bound in any way, he couldn’t, couldn’t move, couldn’t even wriggle his fingers. Panic made him breathe hard, his breath caught painfully in his throat.

“Sammy,” the name tripped from his lips unbidden and the thing swooped down, eyes cruel, mouth wide with glee.

_”I can see so much,”_ it crooned. _”He didn’t come before, didn’t even look before, so why would he come for you now? You are a dead man and I will enjoy watching you die almost as much as I enjoyed watching you lie in sin together.”_

With that, she flickered out and Dean closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, the wetness on his cheeks salty on his lips.

He had to have faith that, this time, Sam would come for him.

****

Sam had searched all the places the owner had referred to but to no avail. There was no sign of Dean anywhere. He tried to think clearly, to go into hunter mode but he was too panicked, too frantic. He remembered the last time Dean had gone and it still stung thinking about it. They had gotten beyond it though, Dean had forgiven him, they had become brothers, friends, and lovers again and Sam had been – for one fleeting moment – happy. Now Dean was gone and Sam was beginning to doubt that he would ever get him back again. 

He turned on his laptop and googled the motel. He didn’t know why this particular room was cursed but he was determined to find out.

It didn’t take him long; his hands were shaking as his fingers played over the keys, his eyes burning as he stared at the screen. _The bride in the bath_ , the stupid legend that Dean had playfully mocked, the tacky bloodstains, the smears on the shower curtain. It was all true, the legend actually had basis in truth and Sam was beginning to suspect that it was the _bride_ that was responsible for the happenings here.

He cursed himself for being so stupid, for being so blind. All he had wanted was to have a vacation and his determination to have Dean; to make it up to him had brought them to this. He hadn’t even let Dean bring in the weapons or any of the equipment. As soon as he brought the EMF meter, into the room, it lit up like a Christmas tree and Sam shuddered, his eyes drawn to the fake hand prints on the plastic curtain. 

He might have felt some sympathy for the woman; married to a brute who eventually killed her, it was clear that she had unfinished business and that she had become a restless and vengeful spirit. Unhappy in her own life she had lost her humanity, her rationality and had taken her retribution by making sure others suffered in the same way as she once had. Sam swallowed down bile as he read reports, not only of her death, but also of the other deaths that had occurred here, of couples separated. A wife who had lost her husband, a husband who had seen the bloody corpse of his wife, and who would never the same again. He glanced over at the empty bed, the bed that Dean should be lying on, eating chips and being irritating. He rubbed at his eyes and let the tears come. He had found his brother only to lose him again and he didn’t know if he would be able to go on without him this time.

He had to find Dean before it was too late, but how? He had no idea where to look; there was no real pattern to the disappearances only that the missing half of the couple had been tortured, more often or not bled out, dying in the same way that the _bride in the bath_ had died.

Sam turned back to his laptop and prayed hard to whoever might be listening. He couldn’t and wouldn’t give up now. There was still time and there was still hope and while he was still breathing Sam would search until he found Dean again.

****

Dean knew some force was holding him; the spirit was strong, she exuded strength and viciousness, her pleasure in his suffering obvious. She was one of the strongest he had ever encountered, her energy seemingly gleaned from his pain. She drained his blood, cut him somehow, her ability to hold and control things was great and she was almost too powerful. She held him there by will alone and he realized that he wasn’t going to get free of her.

He had no idea where he was; it was somewhere dark, a cellar perhaps or a sewer. He had some inkling he was no longer in the motel but apart from that his confused mind could form no other thoughts. Time had passed but he had no idea how many minutes, hours or days. His body ached and he was constantly hungry and thirsty. Starvation might kill him before blood loss but he was convinced that – this time – his luck had run out and he was going to die.

Sam hadn’t come – how could he? Sam would look this time but Dean knew, deep inside, that Sam wouldn’t know where to look or who had taken him. His brother was bright and clever but he couldn’t work miracles and he was destined to rot away in this place. He felt foolish tears sting his lashes but he couldn’t brush them away. The spirit seemed to like watching him cry and he wanted to scream at her, wanted to tell her that he wasn’t crying for himself but for the fact, he wouldn’t ever get to talk to his beloved brother again, wouldn’t get to hold him, wouldn’t get to love him. He wanted to explain all of this to her but he knew she would never understand. She had never known love like that and never would. He wished he could destroy her because he was aware that he wasn’t the first victim nor would he be the last. She was too good at this for it to be her first time and he wondered what had brought her to this, what had caused her to harbor such hatred and bile for love and for life.

****

Sam was so tired; his back ached and his eyes were sore but he had finally found something. He missed Bobby something fierce, the time he had spent doing his own research had been time he couldn’t spend looking for Dean. He realized that searching would be fruitless and pointless and that it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. However, he had found a spell, something old and ancient that could bring the spirit back to him, back to the scene of her death. He had found her grave but salting and burning her now would only save others and not Dean. He was all too aware that his brother would be angry with him for putting Dean first, for putting Dean before the other potential victims but he didn’t care. He did not intend to let his brother die and he did not intend to be separated from Dean again. When this was all over, they were going to, finally, retire from the hunting life. Sam was going to go to college and Dean was coming with him. Sam wasn’t going to accept anything less than a, _Yes_ from his brother and he stood up, cracking his spine and stretching out his limbs. He needed to get the ingredients for the spell and he needed to do it as quickly and as succinctly as he could. He prayed he wasn’t already too late vowing that if Dean were already gone then Sam wouldn’t be far behind.

****

Dean knew he was weakening; that the end was near. He wondered if they would send Tessa for him again, if she would persuade him to go with her this time, wondered if he could bear to leave Sam behind again.

His skin had ripped open in so many different places, blood on his arms, legs and chest. He felt cold, shivers running down his spine, his whole body aching. He was going to die. He wondered why the spirit hated him, wondered why it wanted him dead. He couldn’t make sense of it, his head hurting, his body pinned to the ground like a butterfly on a display.

She was looming over him and her face was close, virulent, and hostile. She bore down on him, her mouth open, laughter echoing over his juddering body. Then she flickered in and out and he heard her scream, her head shaking from side to side. He realized that he could lift his head a little but even as he did so she almost shot from his view, pulled into a black void, her voice screeching, _NO_ as she vanished from his sight. 

He lifted himself slowly onto his arms and managed to drag himself up on his feet. He wasn’t out of danger as yet but he knew that something had happened, that someone had summoned the spirit against her will. He smiled weakly and leaned back against the damp, uneven wall, his mouth forming one word and one word only, “Sam.”

****

For a moment, she appeared to him, as she must have looked in life. Tall and willowy, beautiful long dark hair, and soft sloe eyes. Then her demeanor changed and he saw the vicious face of death and vengeance, her skin rotted and her eyes black and burning. Her red mouth opened wide and she hissed at him, trapped as she was by his spell, trapped in the circle of salt he had drawn, forced to look at him.

_“What have you done to me?”_ Her voice was low and hissing, grating across his nerves. _”Let me go”_

“No.” Sam shook his head. “I want you to tell me where my brother is.”

_”So you can sin again?”_ Her mouth curled up into a cruel, knowing smile.

“Just tell me!” Sam felt exhausted, his arms heavy, the sleepless nights and worry taking their toll on him. He didn’t tell her about the bones he had in the sack next to his bed, he owed her nothing, not even an explanation. He would give her peace but he had no idea where she would go when she finally left this world. After all, she had done, she should be hell bound but he didn’t care, all he cared about was Dean and he hunkered down next to the ring of salt and stared into her mad eyes. “Tell me where he is – I compel you.”

She screamed and hissed; she could not ignore him the spell saw to that. Her eyes darted wildly about the room, staring at the fake hand prints, the smears of blood. She laughed then, hysteria taking her. Lights flickered, the taps turned on and water ran over the sink and dripped onto the floor. The whole building shook and Sam gritted his teeth, desperation stinging his eyes, the need to hold Dean close again, to have him back almost overwhelming him.

“ _He is in the sewer beneath here,_ ” the words were dragged from her lips. “ _Two miles in, a chamber, he is there and he should have died there. How have you done this? Who are you? What are you?”_

Sam had to take the chance, had to believe she wasn’t lying. He got Dean’s lighter out of his pocket and lifted the sack from the damp floor hoping it wasn’t so wet it wouldn’t burn.

“You won’t ever torture or kill again,” he said, almost gentle. “You need to go now, you need to go into the light. I’m sorry you suffered but you – you shouldn’t have done what you did.”

“ _NO_ ,” she wailed then as he put the flickering flame to her bones. The flash as she vanished was almost blinding and Sam let the smoldering sack drop to the floor, already lifting his jacket and running out of the door, the only thought left in his head was the thought of his brother and he knew he needed to find Dean before it was too late.

****

Dean would deny, until his dying day, that Sam swept him up in his arms like some sort of princess and carried him out of the sewer, Dean’s head buried in the safe warmth of Sam’s neck, his hands buried in his brother’s soft chestnut hair.  
He didn’t protest at the hospital suggestion either and let his brother take him to the nearest ER, too weak and shaky to do much more than cling to Sam’s broad shoulders. He didn’t know what Sam told the medics or the doctors but he found himself tucked up in a hospital bed, blood transfusions and glucose drips the order of the day. 

The cops came and questioned him and he told them that he didn’t know who his abductor was, never saw them he said, out of it most of the time. The cops were trying to catch a serial killer but they would never be able to close the case. At least now, there would be no more murders, no more couples separated, no more torture or pain. Sam told him a little about the _bride in the bath_ , about the fact that the legend had been true. The owner of the motel came to see him, brought a huge basket of fruit, he begged for Dean’s forgiveness, and swore that he was going to _‘knock the whole fucking motel to the ground’_ and start again. Dean let him talk, smiled and accepted the fruit under Sam’s amused gaze. He watched the man go and lay back on his pillow exhausted.

“Only you could book us into a vacation motel that was actually haunted.” Sam shook his head and smiled wryly. “Next time, we are going camping.”

“I never thanked you, Sam. . . .” Dean had closed his eyes but he knew, without even having to open them that his brother was watching him. “For saving me.”

Sam was silent for a long time and Dean was aware that he was thinking of purgatory, and what had gone down.

“Sammy.” Dean lifted a heavy hand and laid it over Sam’s hand. “All water under the bridge now, man. We’re good, more than good.”

“A king bed from now on, then?” Sam’s attempt at humor was a little feeble at best. “Maybe we could actually buy one.”

“Buy one?”

“For Rufus’s cabin – we could stay there until we can get a place of our own,” the words came out in a huge rush and Dean opened his eyes to see his brother close to him, eyes bright, a single tear tracking down his pale cheek.

“You want to quit?” Dean asked, carefully, holding his breath.

“When you were gone – I thought . . . .” Sam swiped at his eyes angrily and Dean didn’t need for him to finish his sentence, he knew what Sam thought, he thought Dean had run away, that he couldn’t face up to what they had done.

“I wanted that,” Dean said, gently. “I still want that, Sam. There will never be anyone else for me but you Sammy. She knew that too, that is why she took me and it’s why she separated us. Fuck incest and fuck sin, we have done enough for the planet – time for us to rest now, to get to know each other again.”

“And no more _haunted motels_.”

“No more motels of any kind.” Dean squeezed his brother’s hand. “Just you and me and the open road, Sammy.”

“I love you.” Sam’s face was pink and Dean grinned, tired now but not too tired to tease his baby brother.

“Don’t I know it,” he sighed. “I’ve always known it, Sam. You big girl, you.”

Sam grinned back and laid his head next to Dean’s on the starchy pillow. It was uncomfortable but Sam was warm, smelled of soap, sweat and smoke, the familiar scent of baby brother. Dean closed his eyes then and let himself sleep.  
He was safe and back with his brother again.  
That was all he would ever need.

End


End file.
